Tag Archives: love

Marvel

Posted on June 18, 2017 by John Biscello

In these mortal coils I have always marveled at the sheer lightness of centuries rising to meet love in a single feral drop of gospel distilled to its purest form.

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Valentine

Posted on June 1, 2017 by John Biscello

At the fringes of his bucket list, on his very last pour, he honored the small bright birds buried in his heart for his first love, his ailing mom, who, in her fading twilight, could tenderly absorb the valentine immortalized … Continue reading →

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Worn

Posted on May 28, 2017 by John Biscello

In transit, and in stillness, station by station, one chance moment out of a million and one lost, we see love, in a precious tangle, a flaccid melt, and we renew ourselves through the rumpled means of lives unmade to … Continue reading →

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Kiss/Sing

Posted on May 26, 2017 by John Biscello

It is the first and lasting kiss of breathless lovers archived in a recursive loop, the stripping of cinema to its barest flammable proof.

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The Last Laugh

Posted on May 26, 2017 by John Biscello

After having rejected him night after night, in what had become an agonized shtick and ritual of unrequited love, Colombine turned away  one last time, Pierrot’s parting gag performed for a backwoods audience of trees, grass, air, and a moon, … Continue reading →

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Cinema

Posted on May 25, 2017 by John Biscello

Framed, the naked, unabashed glee of a littleboy protected by the fact that she, the blind girl, cannot pin nor freeze him as a tramp; ennobled by faith and feeling alone, he has matched his character to the white flower … Continue reading →

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A Small Thing

Posted on May 24, 2017 by John Biscello

It is a small thing, small matter, and yet, magnificent, profound, terrifying, yes, terrifying. She is now responsible for this thing, this love, her love has assumed a shape, a form, and it lies there, sleeping, not too far removed from … Continue reading →

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Unfinished Nocturne

Posted on April 27, 2017 by John Biscello

She is the living embodiment of a nocturne, a girl who gathers dark and silence from the cave she inhabits. Or the cave that inhabits her. She sits, stock-still, a fugitive Buddha quietly gathering dark. Quietly, but not always serenely. … Continue reading →

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My Grandmother, My Chaplin

Posted on April 16, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Raking the Dust, honoring the birthdays of my grandmother (April 15th) and Charlie Chaplin (April 16th). In times of hardship and heartache my grandmother would recite St. Teresa’s Prayer or sing Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile” in a warbly and … Continue reading →

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Bedsores

Posted on March 26, 2017 by John Biscello

In the permanent flophouse Love reigns supreme— A tried and torn migrant ready to drop from chronic fatigue

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